Me Before You : A love story that broke my heart ❤️

Some films entertain us, some make us laugh and then there are those that touch something deep within us and stay with us long after the screen goes dark.

Me Before You was one of those films for me.

I watched it twice and both times I found myself completely caught up in the story of Will and Louisa. Their love story was beautiful, unexpected and ultimately, heartbreaking.

Louisa came into Will’s life as his caregiver but what began as a job slowly became something much deeper. She brought colour, laughter and little moments of happiness into his otherwise restricted world. And in return, Will opened up a world of possibilities for her that she perhaps had never imagined for herself.

What touched me most was Louisa’s determination to make Will happy. When she discovered his plans to travel to Switzerland for assisted dying, she secretly held on to the hope that she could change his mind. She wanted him to see that life could still hold beautiful moments, that there was still something worth looking forward to.

I found myself wishing she could change his mind too.

Their first trip together, their first kiss, even their little disagreement…all those moments made their relationship feel so real. I loved watching them grow closer and I think that’s why the ending hurt so much.

And when Louisa returned to Switzerland to be with him, my heart simply broke.

Then came Will’s letter.

Even after his passing, he continued to encourage her to live fully, to explore the world and to discover the person she could become. In his own way, he was still looking after her, hoping she would not allow her world to become small.

That letter was almost too much for my heart to bear.

Of course, the film also leaves us with difficult questions about love, choice, independence and the meaning of living a fulfilling life. Will’s decision is deeply personal and complicated and I don’t think there are simple answers. But what stayed with me was how profoundly two people can change each other’s lives, even when they cannot have the ending they wished for.

And perhaps that’s what made me reflect on love itself.

I believe love is about sharing life. The laughter, the adventures, the little disagreements, the quiet moments and even the ordinary everyday things that somehow become precious when shared with someone special.

It isn’t always about saving someone or changing them. Sometimes, it’s about walking alongside each other, accepting one another and making the journey a little more beautiful.

Me Before You broke my heart, but it also left me thinking about how precious love is, how deeply it can touch us and how important it is to keep living with an open heart.

At the End, to rate the movie, Netflix asked me what I thought of the movie. 

Not for me? I like this? Love this?

None of those buttons quite captured what I felt.

I didn’t simply love this movie.

It broke my heart, touched my soul and left me thinking about it long after the credits rolled.

Some love stories stay with you.

This one certainly will. ❤️

Diwali Feels A Little Different Without You…

The lights are going up, the festival is approaching and the world is getting ready to celebrate.

Yet, somewhere within me, things feel a little quieter again this Diwali.

I find myself wishing my mom was still around. 

It’s strange how festivals change when someone so important is no longer around. The dates remain on the calendar, the lights still sparkle, the familiar celebrations continue but something feels missing.

Perhaps it’s the little things that I miss most. Having mom around, knowing I could call her, sharing a meal, hearing her voice and simply having her as part of my world.

I am learning that life carries on even when our hearts sometimes wish they could pause.

I want to remember the love, the laughter and the beautiful memories my mom left behind. I want to carry those memories with gratitude, even on days when missing her hurts a little more.

But I still wish mom was here. 

Just one more Diwali. 

One more conversation. 

One more ordinary day with her. 

Until then, I’ll keep a little light burning in my heart for you, mom. 

You are missed, you are loved, and you will always be a part of every celebration in my heart. 

Happy Diwali, Amma…❤️🪔

Seventy Years And Then Goodbye

Seventy years.

That was how long they had been married.

Yesterday, I watched the news of Tun Dr Siti Hasmah’s passing and saw her husband, Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, grieving beside her.

He is 101 years old.

And suddenly, politics didn’t seem important anymore.

There was just an elderly husband who had lost his wife. And, she lived up to a 100. 

A woman who had been beside him for seventy years. I found myself feeling unexpectedly emotional.

Perhaps because there is something deeply moving about a lifetime shared with another person.

Seventy years means knowing someone through so many versions of themselves.

Young. Older. Busy. Tired.

Happy.Worried.Celebrating. Struggling.

It means watching children grow, families change, seasons come and seasons go.

It means accumulating thousands of ordinary moments that nobody else could fully know.

And then one day, you wake up and the person who has been part of all those years is no longer there.

I don’t think we talk enough about this part of growing old.

We celebrate longevity.

A hundred years sounds extraordinary.

But living a long life also means eventually having to say goodbye to many people you love.

And perhaps that is why seeing him cry touched me. It reminded me that age does not make us immune to loss.

It doesn’t make goodbye easier.

We can live for a hundred years and still be someone’s child. 

Someone’s parent.

Someone’s husband. 

Someone’s wife.

Someone’s best friend.

And when that person leaves, we can still feel small and lost.

It also brought my own mother to mind.

Grief does that.

Sometimes another person’s loss opens a little door inside us and suddenly someone we have been carrying quietly in our hearts comes walking through.

A memory. A voice. A laugh.

A silly story we haven’t thought about for months.

And for a moment, they are right there again.

Maybe that is what remains after someone leaves us. Not the number of years. Not the dates. Not even the photographs.

But the little things that became part of us without us realising it.

The way they laughed. The way they called our name.The things they always said. The stories we heard a hundred times.

The ordinary moments that, only later, become extraordinary.

So perhaps today, while the people we love are still here, we should pay attention.

Sit a little longer. Listen a little more.

Have the conversation.

Share the laugh.

Make the cup of chai.

Because one day, we may discover that the moments we thought were ordinary were actually the pieces of a lifetime.

Seventy years.

And then goodbye.

Perhaps the greatest gift is not knowing exactly how long we have. Perhaps it is simply being present for the time we do have.

And loving while we are still here. 🤍

While The Door Is Still Open

 None of us know.

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

We don’t know what the world will look like a hundred years from now. And none of us can imagine what Earth, humanity or life itself might look like a thousand years from today.

That is both fascinating and heartbreaking.

I recently watched a documentary about a family who chose to have their daughter cryopreserved after her death, holding on to the possibility that one day, science might allow her to return to the world.

Her father said that even if it took a thousand years, he would have no regrets.

And then he said something that stayed with me:

Who knows… perhaps there will even be a time machine by then.

I loved his determination. Not because he knew it would work.

He didn’t. He simply refused to close the door.

Perhaps that is what hope sometimes looks like. Not certainty. Not a promise.

Not even a reasonable probability.

Just the decision to leave a possibility open.

Of course, there is another side to this.

A thousand years is beyond anything we can truly comprehend.

Will our civilisation still exist?

Will the world look anything like the one we know?

Will science have advanced beyond anything we can imagine?

Will anyone even remember the people who are making these decisions today?

No one alive now can answer those questions. And perhaps that is the heartbreaking part of being human.

We live our lives as though the future is waiting for us. We make plans. We postpone things. We assume there will be more time.

But there are no guarantees.

We don’t know how many ordinary mornings we have left with someone we love. We don’t know which conversation will be our last. We don’t know what tomorrow will take away or what it might unexpectedly bring.

So, perhaps we don’t need to know.

Perhaps we simply need to keep the doors open where we can.

To love while we have the chance.

To say what needs to be said.

To make the memories we keep postponing.

To leave room for possibilities we cannot yet see.

Because none of us knows what the future holds. And perhaps that uncertainty is exactly why the present matters so much.

We cannot guarantee tomorrow.

But we are here today.

And while the door is still open, perhaps we should step through it.

And live. ❤️